


Everyone wants to carve their scars into someone else

by Cathasninelives



Series: Private Scars, Covert Connections [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Awkward Romance, Childhood Friends, Childhood Friendship, Childhood Memories, M/M, Multi, iwaoi - Freeform, oiiwa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:31:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7224325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cathasninelives/pseuds/Cathasninelives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OIIWA/IWAOI AU (multi-chaptered) lightly inspired by Kiznaiver (having seen Kiznaiver is not necessary to enjoy this), part of a series showing how various HQties are bound by scars in this alternate reality.</p><p>Iwaizumi Hajime is discovered to be kiznaiver (see notes) in junior high due to a series of events which results in his family moving shortly thereafter. Hajime does not know with whom (or with whom all) he is bound, though now returning to Miyagi after many years, he finds himself faced with his childhood best friend, Oikawa Tooru.</p><p>SEE NOTES</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone wants to carve their scars into someone else

He can't remember how long it's been. Since when his knee ached like this; prickling with needles as if slathered in bruises. Fine, warm grey orbs lower to the throbbing joint. He touches it, rubs his thumb over rough, calloused skin; what feels as though it should be dotted in a mix of sickly yellows and deep purples, languid crimsons and morose greens, is clear as day, save the slight dry patches of his own carelessness.

His gaze lowers to his hands, elbows propped on bare knees, fingers lacing together between his thighs as warm summer breeze caresses exposed shoulders. The creak of metal on metal from above threatens to drop him, cast him to the sandy depths below; as if mocking him for returning to this park he all too frequently terrorized as a child. But he's a high school student now, the craning swing set cautions him. It's been years since he visited this place and he's grown substantially.... albeit, not as much as he wishes he had.

His knee throbs again, begs for attention despite lack of injury, warns him how very 'connected' he is. Though to whom, he's yet to know, he's never known. If it weren't for the random aching and that laceration birthmark-like thing on his right wrist, he wouldn't believe it himself. Kiznaiver. That's what they call it. Him. He understood what that meant even less as a child, though he'll never forget when the practitioner told his mother he had become kiznaiver. Or, that he was revealed to be one. The way her gentle, concerned gaze folded to tears, her mind exiling all reason for emotion. She cried. Cried and cried and cried. **T** hey moved to Tokyo shortly after that, during the sweet summer vacation of his first year of junior high, just weeks after the tree--but yards behind him--came crashing to the ravine below, with he and Tooru in it, resulting in a trip to the hospital for the young pair.

He chuckles inwardly. Damn, what idiots they were; their heads brimming with magic, their hearts with laughter, their gazes with constellations. Stone softens to warm ash, beneath a crescent brow. Tooru. He'd hoped to surprise the idiot today, showing up at his childhood home completely unannounced, only to find the starry-eyed alien boy had moved. He never mentioned a new house in any of their text messages. _When did you move?_ Hajime shifts, digging into the pocket of his cargo shorts, to reveal his mobile, the most recent kaiju charm Tooru's sent him dangling from the phone jack. Two years ago; his birthday. Igniting the screen, warm ash strains against the brilliant glow and stark shadows painting his palms, created by the waning afternoon sun; the vibrancy of which renders the screen difficult to see, the backlight far too weak in its bout against the warm glow of mother earth. Nevertheless, he fights his way through the poorly lit screen, knowing exactly where to press to find Tooru's number, despite how hard the harsh glare of the waning sun challenges him. He sends the boy a line, allowing his gaze to linger far too long on palely lit words. Oikawa Tooru. They last spoke this morning. 11:16 A.M..

"Where are you?" Posed as if there were nothing strange in such a question. He knows there is, recognizes it, and rejects such standards without care. Warm ash tracing each individual letter as it appears, he refuses to use the glide function, eyes closing as his thumb finally clicks 'send', allowing himself to be enveloped in the midsummer warmth of his hometown. Inhaling deeply, the world swirls into a mess of sounds; the vibrant whirr of cicadas rasps his ear drums, the tousle of leaves in heated breeze, fine charcoal strands tease at his ears and hair line.

And seconds later, reality racks his form like an unwanted guest, calls him back from his fictitious world of wounds and false injuries as a searing warmth builds in his chest, rises and spreads, permeates -like the sun-. There's no explaining this sensation, this anxiety, that roots itself further within him by the second, as ears are flooded by the sing-song chime of another's mobile. Sharp ashen orbs open to the playground dunes at his feet, absorb instantly the newfound twist of shadows decorating golden sand; elongated and yet so stark, so refined and, lifting his gaze-- the world stands still. Every sound that surrounds him, that surrounds _them_ , swallowed by fate. For a few moments, his body doesn't even react, his muscles reject their function and the heated air that once filled his lungs in waves, is now trapped.

"Oikawa." He manages.

Chestnut eyes dew and flush with his thick lower lash line, his mouth a crinkled mess, warmth dots his face, his outline backlit by the sun in a fine glow, his nose scrunched against fate --and he loses.

Everyone wants to carve their scars into someone else.

**Author's Note:**

> AU loosely based on Trigger's Kiznaiver. However, unlike in Trigger's, being Kiznaiver (K) is not caused by any organization/experimentation/or the like, just something 'magical' that has happened to people over the last few generations. Not everyone is believed to be K and society still doesn't fully understand K, how one becomes K, how Ks bond to others nor who or how many they bond with. It is a not a disease, rather something innate (and uncontrollable) that is simply unknown in an individual until activated. As is common with the poorly understood, K is viewed in a negative light as it is commonly believed that 'binding' (becoming connected) to a kiznaiver results in one becoming K themself, --and not by choice of either party--, thus affecting their ability to function as they suffer and share in all of said individual's afflictions (and eventually others'?). Society has yet to determine how and when these are limited to only physical pain or if mental afflictions and psychological thoughts may be shared as well. It is believed that only negative experiences are shared. As such, once an individual is discovered to be K, he/she/they are discouraged from developing ties with anyone else for fear of that person becoming a K or if they are K, of binding with them. Additionally, due to this vast unknown, non-Ks often hesitate to share in interaction as the concept of binding with someone else and thus experiencing their life second-hand is unsettling.
> 
> Please understand that just as society knows very little of this phenomena, you are initially meant to be kept in the dark about these traits as well.


End file.
